I pick up the second pile of invitations and look from one to the other. One pile of white envelopes. One pile of taupe envelopes. Two weddings. On the same day. In less than six weeks.
If I do one, Mum will never speak to me again.
If I do the other, I get sued for $100,000.
OK, just… keep calm. Think logically. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be. As long as I keep my head and don’t get into a—
Suddenly I hear the sound of the front door opening. “Becky?” comes Luke’s voice. “Is that you?”
Fuck.
In a complete panic, I open the cocktail cabinet, shove both lots of invitations inside, slam the door, and whip round breathlessly just as Luke comes in.
“Sweetheart!” His whole face lights up and he throws his briefcase down. “You’re back! I missed you.” He gives me a huge hug — then draws back and looks anxiously at me. “Becky? Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine!” I say brightly. “Honestly, everything’s great! I’m just tired.”
“You look wiped out. I’ll make some tea, and you can tell me all about Suze.”
He goes out of the room and I collapse weakly on the sofa.
What the hell am I going to do now?
THE PINES
43 Elton Road
Oxshott
Surrey
FAX MESSAGE
TO BECKY BLOOMWOOD
FROM MUM
20 May 2002
Becky, love, I don’t want to worry you. But it looks like that deranged woman you were telling us about has gone one step further and actually printed invitations! Auntie Irene phoned up today and told us she’d got some peculiar invitation through the post, for the Plaza Hotel, just like you said. Apparently it was all bronze and beige, very odd and not like a proper wedding invitation at all!
The best thing is to ignore these people, so I told her to put it straight in the bin and not worry about it. And you must do the same, darling. But I just thought I should let you know.
Much love and talk soon,
Mum xxxxxxxxx
FINERMAN WALLSTEIN
Attorneys at Law
Finerman House
1398 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10105
Miss Rebecca Bloomwood
251 W. 11th Street, Apt. B
New York, NY 10014
May 21, 2002 April 3rd Receiving instructions to redraft your will $150
April 6th Receiving further instructions to redraft your will $150
Aprill 11th Receiving instructions for further amendments to your will $150
April 17th Receiving further instructions to redraft your will $150
April 19th Receiving instructions for further amendments to your will $150
April 24th Receiving further instructions to redraft your will $150
April 30th Receiving instructions for further amendments to your will $150
Total $1,050
INVOICE no. 10956
With thanks
Fifteen
OK. THE REALLY vital thing is to keep a sense of proportion. I mean, let’s face it, every wedding has the odd glitch. You can’t expect the whole process to go smoothly. I’ve just bought a new book, called The Realistic Bride, which I’m finding very comforting at the moment. It has a huge chapter all about wedding hitches, and it says: “No matter how insurmountable the problem seems, there will always be a solution! So don’t worry!”
So the example they give is of a bride who loses her satin shoe on the way to the reception. Not one who has arranged two different weddings on the same day on different continents, is hiding half the invitations in a cocktail cabinet, and has discovered her wedding planner is a litigious nutcase.
But you know, I’m sure the principle’s broadly the same.
I’ve been back in New York for a week now, and during that time I’ve been to see about seventeen different lawyers about Robyn’s contract. All of them have looked at it carefully, told me they’re afraid it’s watertight, and advised me in the future to read all documentation before signing it.
Actually, that’s not quite true. One lawyer just said, “Sorry, miss, there’s nothing we can do,” as soon as I mentioned that the contract was with Robyn de Bendern. Another said, “Girl, you’re in trouble,” and put the phone down.
I can’t believe there isn’t a way out, though. As a last resort, I’ve sent it off to Garson Low, the most expensive lawyer in Manhattan. I read about him in People magazine, and it said he has the sharpest mind in the legal world. It said he can find a loophole in a piece of concrete. So I’m kind of pinning all my hopes on him — and meanwhile, trying very hard to act normally and not crumple into a gibbering wreck.
“I’m having lunch with Michael today,” says Luke, coming into the kitchen with a couple of boxes in his arms. “He seems to have settled into his new place well.”
Michael’s taken the plunge and moved to New York, which is fantastic for us. He’s working part time as a consultant at Brandon Communications, and the rest of the time, as he put it, he’s “reclaiming his life.” He’s taken up painting, and has joined a group that power-walks in Central Park, and last time we saw him he was talking about taking a course in Italian cookery.
“That’s great!” I say.
“He said we must come over soon…” He peers at me. “Becky, are you all right?”
Abruptly I realize I’m drumming a pencil so hard it’s making indentations in the kitchen table.
“I’m absolutely fine,” I say with an overbright smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I haven’t said a word about anything to Luke. In The Realistic Bride it says the way to stop your fiancé from getting bored with wedding details is to feed them to him on a need-to-know basis.